A/N: Hi, this is my first real story I'm publishing (aside from a terrible attempt when I was 12/13). It focuses on Wendy, and it might have some dark elements (nothing too bad, as I can never be too cruel). Also, Wendy is 15, and Peter is approximately 16/17 (and no, he isn't anyone's father). This will be a mature fic, meaning there will be language and themes. I really hope you'll enjoy it!
I own nothing except my recurring obsession with Neverland and the boy who rules it.
She didn't understand why or how it came to be. She looked over her shoulder at the boy sleeping in the bed next to her. He looked peaceful, innocent, even though he was anything but…
The tears streamed down her face. She need out of this place, this world, her life. The only reason she stayed were her mother and brothers. Unfortunately for her, their father got his kicks from making her life a living hell. She couldn't do anything right. So she walked over to her desk, and reached for the one vice she allowed herself, and climbed out her window onto the roof. She flicked her lighter to life, staring at the smoldering flame before bringing the cigarette to her lips and lighting it. She took a long drag, holding it in until she could feel the sizzle down in her lungs. Wendy wasn't stupid, she knew all too well the consequences of smoking on your health, and that it could very well bring about her untimely demise. But with the course of life lately, that didn't sound all too terrible. Wendy understood that her father was a cruel man, hardened by the burden of adulthood, but that didn't make his words or slaps sting any less. Tonight, her mistake had been "behaving unladylike", although she didn't see how that warranted going to bed without dinner, and a slap across the face. Putting the cigarette out, she climbed back into her room and found a cupcake sitting on the desktop with a single candle lit, obviously her mother's doing. She held her hair back from her face and softly blew. Her eyes flicked to the evening sky outside her window and she whispered to herself, "Anywhere but here."
If the fact Wendy was struggling to keep her eyes open was anything to go by, then she should probably put her favorite book, J.M. Barrie's Peter Pan, down and get ready for bed. She got up from her window seat, and slipped the trapeze dress off her shoulders. She looked at her vanity mirror, tracing the goose bumps down her body. It didn't escape her notice when there was a definite movement outside her bedroom window.
Forgone with pajamas due to overheating, Wendy had been tossing and turning in her bed for approximately 2 hours now. She kicked the covers off her bare body, and tried to calm her ever spinning mind. She closed her eyes and pictured a beach, the warmth of the sun on her skin. The salty breeze in her hair, and strangest of all a whisper in her ear. The whispers of a boy.
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